It was me. I changed. I dyed my hair and wanted to get a job. He didn’t like that. It didn’t fit into his plans. I wasn’t the trophy wife he wanted.
I’m in a white dress. At a party or we were about to go to one. I can’t be sure.
We’re fighting, and he’s screaming, “You’re pathetic. You can’t do anything right. I can’t even bring myself to fuck you. You’re a lousy lay. Might as well be fucking a dead fish. You should just disappear.” He throws a glass against the wall, the shards sparkling on the floor. My every nerve ending burns.
He slaps me hard. Not a punch. A showy, open-palmed slap that leaves my ear stinging. But then he pushes me from behind, and I hit my head on a table. The next thing I know I’m on the floor. Then he’s shouting at someone else. Another voice, a woman’s, shrill with panic, says, “You’ve killed her.”
In the next flash I’m alone, stumbling through a hotel hallway, ice clinking in the bottom of a glass I don’t remember filling. My heart slams against my chest, beating faster and faster. I’m afraid to look over my shoulder. Afraid of what I’ll find. Terrified I’ll see him chasing after me to finish the job. Then I’m running. I’m outside. On the beach. I keep running until I hit the water. I’m in the water and can’t breathe. A wave sucks me under. Panic roars in my chest. Was I trying to swim or drown? Was someone with me that night, or did I walk into the ocean on my own?
I shoot upright in bed, cold sweat clinging to my skin. White-hot pain bursts behind my eyes, and I feel sick, but I remember.
I remember everything.
Phillip was having an affair.
It had been going on for a while. He was screwing Leandra, his childhood friend whom he swore was like a sister to him. It all started when I told him I wasn’t ready for children. That I wanted to wait, but he couldn’t wait. He raped me. He beat me. And I ran. I was trapped. Our marriage was one of contract. A business arrangement. Neither of our families believe in divorce. I wanted out.
I was trying to drown myself.
My hand moves to my mouth as vomit spews up my throat.
I wanted to die.
Then Kevlar found me.
He saved me.
He brought me back to life.
I rush to the bathroom and throw up.
I’m not sure how long I sit on the bathroom floor, but eventually, I pull it together long enough to clean up. I wish Kevlar were here so I could tell him the truth. That I do have a husband. A man that I hate. A man who hates me enough to want me dead because I’m not the wife he wanted, but I’m the one that was promised. If I file for a divorce, a war will erupt between his father and mine. I should let them kill each other off, but I have my brothers to think about. I don’t want them gunned down in the streets or in their beds. I’m their big sister.
I married Phillip to keep them safe. They’re not even ten years old. I couldn’t divorce Phillip, but if I had died, then he’d be free to be with Leandra and not keep her as a mistress. That’s what he wanted. To break me. For me to do the dirty work for him.
But I survived, and now he’s coming after me to finish the job.
I need to warn Kevlar.
Downstairs he’s nowhere to be found.
There’s a couple of guys milling around but not many.
I don’t recognize any of them.
Maybe Kevlar went to his tattoo shop. I know he doesn’t want me to leave, but this is important. Phillip is dangerous and will do anything to get what he wants.
Me six feet under.
I go back up to Kevlar’s room, but it’s locked and I don’t know the code to get back in. I didn’t think any of this through very well.
If Ashley’s here, maybe she can call him or something.
As I roam the hallways, I stop in my tracks when I hear Blood’s voice.
“Yeah. Crazy bitch. A real pain in the ass. Just more problems we don’t need.”
Is he talking about me?
